Jerome, A Poor Man eBook

“Yes,” Jerome said, all of a tremble under
her touch; “and—­you won’t feel
offended because I told you?”

“No, only I can’t see why you stayed away
for that.”

Chapter XXVIII

The next afternoon Jerome went to Miss Camilla’s
tea-party. Sitting in the arbor, whose interior
was all tremulous and vibrant with green lights and
shadows, as with a shifting water-play, sipping tea
from delicate china, eating custards and the delectable
plum-cake, he tasted again one of the few sweet savors
of his childhood.

Jerome, in the arbor with three happy young people,
taking for the first time since his childhood a holiday
on a work-day, seemed to comprehend the first notes
of that great harmony of life which proves by the
laws of sequence the last. The premonition of
some final blessedness, to survive all renunciation
and sacrifice, was upon him. He felt raised above
the earth with happiness. Jerome seemed like
another person to his companions. The wine of
youth and certainty of joy stirred all the light within
him to brilliancy. He had naturally a quicker,
readier tongue than Lawrence Prescott, now he gave
it rein.

He could command himself, when he chose and did not
consider that it savored of affectation, to a grace
of courtesy beyond all provincial tradition.
In his manners he was not one whit behind even Lawrence
Prescott, with his college and city training, and in
face and form and bearing he was much his superior.
Lawrence regarded him with growing respect and admiration,
Elmira with wonder.

As for Miss Camilla, she felt as if tripping over
her own inaccuracy of recollection of him. “I
never saw such a change in any one, my dear,”
she told Lucina the next day. “I could scarcely
believe he was the little boy who used to weed my
garden, and with so few advantages as he has had it
is really remarkable.”

Miss Camilla gazed at her reflectively. She had
a mild but active imagination, which had never been
dispelled by experience, for romance and hearts transfixed
with darts of love. “I hope he will never
be so unfortunate as to place his affections where
they cannot be reciprocated, since he is in such poor
circumstances that he cannot marry,” she sighed,
so gently that one could scarcely suspect her of any
hidden meaning.

“I do not think,” said Lucina, still with
steadfast eyes upon her embroidery, “that a
woman should consider poverty if she loves.”
Then her cheeks glowed crimson through her drooping
curls, and Miss Camilla also blushed; still she attributed
her niece’s tender agitation to her avowal of
general principles. She did not once consider
any danger to Lucina from Jerome; but she had seen,
on the day before, the young man’s eyes linger
upon the girl’s lovely face, and had immediately,
with the craft of a female, however gentle, for such
matters, reached half-pleasant, half-melancholy conclusions.